


Uneven Odds

by jamie55



Series: Star Crossed [3]
Category: Star Trek, Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Delusions, F/F, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, dean and sam drama, mental breakdowns caused by space infections and repression, space-ventures, talking about feeli
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-04-17 03:29:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14179551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamie55/pseuds/jamie55
Summary: With Dean now aboard the USS Persephone, Lt Cmd Castiel Novak has every hope they can work together to take down the mysterious YED and stop their nefarious ways.  Dean meanwhile is having a hard time coping with... well with everything.  Sam isn't doing much better - despite appearances.  Still - they have a job to do.  And as they await their first lead - they get side-tracked by scouting mission with unexpected sights.





	1. The problem with Dean

**Author's Note:**

> hey... so update took a while but i have an excellent excuse, which i won't bore you with - suffice it to say that Dean's characterization was.. therapeutic. I've written about a third of it and i'm gonna go ahead and start posting - slowly - in hopes of some motivation.
> 
> Fic title from the [Sleeping at Last song (which i highly recommend)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=190WHotPutM)

Cas had a great many duties on the Persephone. It was his job to reinforce security. To ensure the safety of all those working on and visiting the Persephone. Considering this was an interstellar space craft which regularly visited worlds in or near conflict; to deliver supplies and extract injured personnel - this was not always an easy task. But he was competent at his job. He was capable. He knew his place.

“It’s one thing not to detain him, Bobby,” Captain Ellen said, “but we can’t exactly let him go free.”

“Well, he sure don’t deserve to be put in jail.”

This was not the first meeting they had had about Dean Winchester. Castiel did not believe it would be the last.

“He has reportedly broken many laws on a multitude of worlds.”

“Oh,” Bobby turned to him, “So now you think he should be jailed.”

“I didn’t - I’m simply pointing out the facts. More importantly, Captain,” he turned to her, “Dean Winchester has been made contact with a multitude of sources and gathered a large amount of intel about the possible YED danger.”

“The first of which Starfleet has ever heard of”

“Captain-”

“I know, I read your report Novak, but what you saw isn’t conclusive evidence.”

“Doctor Fitzegerald obtain biological evidence-”

“Until we find another report to collaborate with yours, we cannot -” she took breath and sighed deeply, “we cannot assume it is a wide-spread network. If anything, the lack of collaborative reports is evidence that mr Winchester may not have accurate information.”

“I believe he is telling the truth.”

Captain Harvelle gave him a hard look. “Well that’s high praise coming from you.”

“Thank you,” he frowned.

She was quiet a moment, drumming her fingers on the meeting table. The Captain had been very lenient so far. Bobby had convinced her to give Dean a chance, and after meeting with him, she’d agreed to not turn him over - right away. He’d been given a security detail of course, clearance to walk around, so long as he was accompanied, and Dean didn’t make any fuss. (Except for one escape attempt - but that was quickly and quietly averted.) 

Starfleet wasn’t feeling as generous about the situation. Castiel was working hard to make a case to further investigate the YED. But they wanted to write it off as an isolated incident. As a small gang, who might be trouble, but who weren’t big enough to be contended with. It was frustrating. Watching them ignored a threat. 

Even if Dean’s intel wasn’t completely correct - they had murdered. They had killed, mercilessly, for their own potential. And they just got away with it? Unacceptable. Dean had gathered so much information, so much intel, so many contacts - he was too valuable for this investigation and mission to be locked away for a few petty crimes. 

“I have also amended my recommendations for Dean Winchester’s convictions,” Castiel said, holding out a tablet to the Captain. She took it, skimming it over. “After further investigation of his record, I’ve been able to discredit three offenses and explain a dozen as unauthorized humanitarian missions.”

“Humanitarian missions?” Bobby crocked an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Castiel said with a straight face, “Humanitarian.” 

“I didn’t know you dabbled in advocacy in your free time,” the Captain said, “Commander.”

Castiel looked away and straightened up. “You’ll find everything is in order.”

She nodded, eyes still on the pad, “I’ll review it and pass it along.”

“Thank you, ma’m.”

“Dismissed.”

Castiel nodded and stood up, leaving Captain Ellen Harvelle and Lt Commander Bobby Singer to their own chat. Sometimes they did that. Castiel wasn’t offended. 

He had another meeting to get to anyway. 


	2. Chatty Cathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that took so long - there was a con in town and i had a busy weekend :)
> 
> **  
> A magno-spanner is a super futuristic scifi tool. Like a spanner but more futury. Probably can control electric fields.   
> idk I'm a writer not an engineer.

Dean was in the garage. Or the closest thing which the USS Persephone had to a garage - the docking bay. One of the shuttle crafts had gotten banged up. Rough liftoff. Rougher landing. Dean had offered his services. In a way. He’d wandered out of sick bay, wandered into the docking bay and-

Well he had something to do now.

It was better than the alternative.

Most of the circuits were fried, the hull was damaged and bent, manifolds needed replacing and one of the thrusters had swallowed so much space debris it clogged up. 

Bobby had let him at it. 

He was chief engineer, and somehow convinced the Captain it’d be okay. There was a crew of trained engineers on board, and they could’ve fixed it up in a day. But Bobby told him to take his time. Just let him at it. And it was something to do. And it was great.

“That’s the wrong size.”

Dean sighed heavily and turned away from the open circuit board and towards the blonde in a red shirt, giving her an unimpressed glare. 

“The resistor needs to be double that size.” She quirk an unimpressed eyebrow and leaned against the shuttle’s open doorway, arms crossed. Ensign Jo Harvelle; Dean’s own personal security detail. He ignored her and turned back.

“Do you want me to get you the right size?”

“I know what I’m doing.”

There was a beat of silence, where the only sound to be heard was Dean, activating his magna-spanner. It made a low hiss.

“Sure.”

Really, it wasn’t too bad. Captain Harvelle had been nice about the whole thing. She and Bobby were working out some sort of deal or… something. Something. Something about his future, about his past crimes. Something. Dean really hadn’t focused too much energy on it. Dean hadn’t really cared. 

He put the magna-spanner down and flipped a switch, watching the read out flicker to life. Satisfied, he flipped it back off, and put the panel back in place. Circuits covered, dash repaired, Dean picked up his tools. 

“That’s it?” Jo asked. “Are you done with that?”

“Yes.”

“Any chance you thinking of calling it quits yet?”

“If you’re bored,” Dean said, walking past her and exiting the shuttle, “you could always leave.”

“And leave you by your lonesome? I couldn’t do that.”

He pulled a panel out, calmly walking a few feet and gently laying it flat on the ground. There was a bend in it. So he stepped on it. And kicked it. And jumped. Crushing it. Flattening it.

And then it was fixed.

Easy.

He dusted the panel off and put it on the side of the shuttle craft, inspecting the inner circuit before he replaced the panel. The wires weren’t fused, the transistors seemed operational, and everything was fine. It was fine. He slammed the panel back into place, the noise echoing out with some satisfaction, and picked up he first bolt and magno-spanner to hold it in place. The doors opened.

“Hello Jo,” said the entering red head.

“Ensign Bradbary.”

“Jo, Jo, Jo, we’ve talked about this.” She smiled, attempting to charm.

Silence.

“Okay then,” Charlie continued,her smile now strained and awkward, “Hey Dean!”

Dean grunted back a sort of hello. Charlie had been assigned to supervise his work. She was still just an ensign, but Bobby said it was a technicality. She was one of the greatest engineers he’d ever met - or would be once she got enough experience.

“Uh,” Charlie said, “you need help there?”

Jo was standing about 20 meters away, not far from the door, Charlie next to her, red hair matching her outfit.

Dean held the panel with one hand and arranged the bolt with his other.

“I got it.” He held the panel as the bolt balanced in place. Picked up his magno-spanner, he’d tucked into his pocket, and… bolted it.

“Awesome,” Charlie said, grinning, nodding. “So…” she started, nonchalantly, “Jo. How’s it going.”

“I’m on duty.”

“As am I.”

“You’re on duty?”

“Well- no.”

“Why are you in engineering?”

“I work here. And there. Not now. But, at times. Other times.”

Jo stared at her, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. 

It was painful to watch.

“Charlie,” Dean called out with a gruff voice. They both turned to look at him. “Wanna take me out to lunch?”

“Yes, good, that’s - good.”

“Great, you stick with him,” Jo said, “I’ll have time for my mid-day report.”

“You don’t want to eat me?-” Charlie said, “I mean, eat with me, I mean us. Eat with us. All of us eating. Food. Together.”

“I can’t… I’ll eat in my quarters, thanks. You okay to stick with him ‘til my replacement comes?”

“Sure, yeah, no problemo,” Charlie said with a sad smile. Jo gave a nod to both of them and left.

Charlie was grimacing as soon as Jo turned. When the doors closed, she managed to open her eyes, wincing, and looked at Dean.

“Wow.” He said, unimpressed.

“Don’t say it.”

“’Would you like to eat me?’,” he chuckled, “Really Charlie? Were you trying to be subtle?”

“It just came out, it was word vomit. Word vomit happens.”

“Right, right… Maybe next time work your way up, like start at kissing or hand holding. Or how about some good old fashion eye contact!”

“Alright. Very useful advice,” Charlie said. “Come on. I’ve got comfort food calling my name.”

  


——

Ensign Jo Harvelle was waiting for him outside the meeting doors.

“Ensign.”

“Sir.”

“Have you been here long?” Castiel asked nodding down the hall and starting to walk.

“No sir,” Jo said, falling into step with him, “I just arrived from docking bay. Ensign Bradbury took over and she and Dean went to lunch.”

“Excellent.” He turned a corner and they stopped in front of the elevator. It opened up near instantly. They shuffled in and grabbed the anchors. Castiel twisted one of them, “4th floor”.

Jo knitted her brow at the request but stayed quiet.

“How was it today?”

“Same as before,” she said, “he works on the ship and refuses any attempt at conversing.”

“Hmm. Well,” Castiel said, “keep trying.” It was imperative that Dean felt comfortable enough to work with them. For the mission. 

After his father’s funeral, Dean retreated. He had even drawn back from his brother Sam. After a few visits, they had gotten into an argument and Dean had told him to leave him be. Sam had not taken the rejection well. 

“Sir, I don’t think he’s going to ever want to talk to me.” Castiel turned to look at her, disappointed and confused. The elevator stopped and the doors opened up.

“Didn’t you initially state that Dean was somewhat receptive to you?” They started down the hall.

“Yes, a little. I told about - about my dad’s death, and that was - it was something.” She shrugged. “Shared experience. And he did make a few… flirtatious attempt,” Jo said, Castiel looked over, “but he lost interest, very quickly. I just don’t believe he’s in the right frame of mind to be making friends. Especially when they’re acting like guards.”

“He can’t possibly think we’d leave him alone in a hanger full of shuttle crafts. You know what happened last time he was left alone.”

“I do however believe he’s made a connection with ensign Bradbury.”

“Bradbury?”

“Yes, sir, she was assigned by engineering to help guide Winchester’s process on the shuttle craft.”

“And are they.. Bonding?”

“Yes, sir, I believe they’re friends.”

“I see,” Castiel said, turning a corner.

“Sir,” Jo said, “if I might make a suggestions.”

Castiel nodded.

“Waiting for him to ‘recover’ and open up, is not the right tactic.”

“Elaborate.”

Jo took a deep breath, her hands clasp behind her back. 

“Sir, right now, Dean Winchester is licking his wounds. But once he’s recovered, he’ll have no reason to help us. No reason to stay. He will escape, as soon as the moment presents itself. Because so far as he’s concerned, we are not his friends. We are the enemy.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Those are strong terms ensign.”

“That’s my assesment, sir,” Jo said shrugging, matter of factly. She took after her mother, there was no doubt on that. Castiel stopped walking and turned to her.

“And what would you recommend?”

“We question him,” she answered quickly, “we stop treating him like a guest and push for names and dates, and then go on to create our own investigation.”

“And how much time would that take?” Castiel asked in return, “to build up the network, the contacts, which Dean Winchester has been building his entire life. How long do you estimate it would it take for us to catch up?”

“Sir.”

Castiel took a deep breath, shutting his eyes a moment. “You aren’t wrong, ensign, but you aren’t right. We need him.”

“I understand that but -”, she stepped forward, “sir, we cannot build our entire investigation around him. You see how reckless that would be, don’t you?”

Of course he did.

“Thank you ensign. You’re relieved.”

“Sir?”

“Go get some rest, Jo. Dismissed.”

Jo gave him a slow, skeptical nod, but left, walking down the hall to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try posting once a week. That's a thing ppl do right? Challenge accepted.


	3. Hungry Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But that’s what Sam wanted.  
> He wanted a normal grieving family.  
> That’s what you’re supposed to do right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a month since my last update.  
> yikes.  
> That was not intentional and I apologize. I got sick and then distracted with stuff and then forgot to edit, in favour of writing... anyway to the 3 ppl who care: I will endeavour to do better. Especially since the next like 4 chapters are mostly done

Charlie dragged his ass over to the food court. He didn’t want food of course. He wasn’t particularly hungry. Even top notch starfleet rations. The kind that came in dumb shapes and weird colours, but fuck, they tastes like heaven. 

He remembers being a kid and the few times they had gotten their hands on starfleet rations. It was pretty easy when you were young. Just wander into a settlement and try not to be too sketchy. People see kids, they tend to go soft hearted. Even a hungry town’ll spare a bite for a couple of lost rugrats… 

Not so much when you grow a few feet.

You gotta earn your feed on most worlds by then. In whatever way you can.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Charlie said, swallowing her own mouthful. She had opted ‘real’ food. Mac and cheese with broccoli. She hovered her fork out and waved it out at him, “Food is meant to be eaten, Winchester, it’s not art.”

He blinked.

He stretched his mouth out to what ought to be a grin.

“You only say that ‘cuz you’ve never had one of my wondrous burgers.” Dean poked at something yellow and stuck it in his mouth. Chew, chew, chew. It tasted like corn, like chicken, like fried potatoes. Open fields and sunny days. He looked around the cafeteria. UV lighting, plain walls, and clean floors. Chew, chew, swallow. Repeat. He loved these as a kid. His dad’s favourite were the red. 

Charlie was giving him a look. Knowing and annoying. He stretched out into another smile.

“So,” Dean said, “Jo’s looking well today.” He said, innocently dumping another forkful of yellow into his mouth.

Charlie growned. “Can we just forget that ever happened.”

Dean shrugged, looked away, let Charlie believe he’d let it go so easily, then turned back to her, “I was just curious - if embarrassing yourself was part of some grand bang master plan?”

Charlie growned again, sad and pitiful, a painful and mournful expression on her face.

“You know,” Dean leaned in, “if you need any help or tips on how to flirt-”

“I do not. I’m great okay - I’m the Queen, alright - I banged near half of my human physiology and half of my exophysiology class, and that was when I was bored out of my mind.”

“Okay.” Dean tried the green stuff. It was stringy. “So what’s the problem?”

“Jo… Jo’s different. She’s special,” Charlie said, a distant and whimsical smile, playing on her lips. “You know?”

Dean chewed on his green. “Meh,” he shrugged. “She must be special to see past those shitty pick-up lines.”

“Shut up,” Charlie said, the smile stayed fixed.

Dean quirked his mouth, amused. He went after the orange stuff, breaking it down with his fork and spearing a few pieces. Meat? Chewy, soft, moist, roasted flavour. They sat in silence for awhile. Companionable. No need to chit chat. No need to explain this or that. No need to think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think-

Sam wasn’t around. Probably on shift somewhere aboard. He had stop trying to get Dean into conversing ‘properly’ about it all after a few visits. Then he stopped visiting. Not that Dean gave him a reason to. He just kept looking at him, with big sappy puppy moose eyes, expecting. Waiting. 

And Dean couldn’t. 

He couldn’t hug him and tell him it was okay. He couldn’t tell him not to worry. He couldn’t tell him that he was going to handle everything, that Sam didn’t have to worry about a thing, that he was going to take care of him. He couldn’t listen to him, tell sad stories of what was. Of how dad was this and dad was that. Painting some strange foreign reality of their past. He couldn’t share happy or silly or whatever stories about dad. He couldn’t pretend like everything was okay between them all before… He couldn’t.

But that’s what Sam wanted.

He wanted a normal grieving family.

That’s what you’re supposed to do right?

Comfort one another. Take care of each other. Talk about memories.

Say things like, it’s going to be alright, it wasn’t your fault, he was always proud of you - 

Make everything alright again.

As if they could ever be alright again.

But it was dumb. 

It was stupid.

He wasn’t the first person to lose a parent. Heck this wasn’t even his first parent to lose. So this - this crap was dumb shit. He had to get over it. Just snap back into action. Just move on. Move on.

Sam didn’t need him. Sam didn’t want him anyway. He made that clear years ago.

He was so smart. He made it to Starfleet, he passed all the classes, and all his tests - he made it to graduation. All on his own. Carving his life out. A life without dad. That’s what he wanted. And Dean. Dean was just screwing it all up.

Again.

“Hello Dean.”

“Fua-” Dean jumped in his seat, heart leaping, and glad as all heck that his mouth was empty.

“Ensign Bradbury.”

“Heya Commander,” Charlie smiled nonchalantly, “how’s it been?”

Castiel blinked at her, a small break from the terrifying serious stick-up-his-ass normal self. “How has… what been?”

“Ya know,” Charlie said with a shrug, “things.”

Castiel squinted at her, “They have been… and will continue to be. Unless otherwise.”

Charlie nodded. “Cool. You wanna eat with us?”

“I,” he hesitated, his eyes dodged around, glancing at Dean before turning back to Charlie and finally deciding, “I have no need for eating at the moment-”

“Oh darn.” Dean said. 

“But,” Cas continued, shooting Dean another look, “I would like to join your table.”

Charlie grinned widely at that. “That would be lovely, wouldn’t it Dean?” Dean rolled his eyes and (aggressively) took another bite of orange stuff. “Dean would love to have you join.” She gestured to the free seat.

Cas seemed confused a second but then, like any dutiful robo-soldier, he sat down, folding his hands together on the table. It boiled Dean’s blood.

He thought they had connected. Back on the planet - he’d thought they had earned each other’s trust. Or whatever. But the mission - it all went sour. And they managed to get back up here in one piece - more or less. And reality set in.

Dean was a criminal, unwanted, nuisance. Castiel had gone in to see him once when he was still in sick bay and even then it was to inform Dean of his ‘situation’. To clarify that Dean was to stay on the ship. That those assholes on Crossruds had gotten away. Then he sent Jo out, to watch him like a hawk, and went back on his way. He came by the docking bay a few times to ask a few questions, clarifications for Starfleet records or whatever, some of it was intel on YED. Not that the Federation ever paid attention to them before.

But it made sense. It made perfect sense. It’s not like he actually cared about Dean and Dean was - would’ve been stupid to think otherwise. Which he didn’t. He knew the truth and it was fine.

It was fine.

And now, after weeks of that bullshit, Lieutenant Commander Castiel Novak decided to grace them with his presence for lunch. 

What an honour.

Dean stabbed at his meal, and turned away from Cas’ new seat. He had no intention of chitchating with Commander babysitter. 

Charlie looked between them with an awkward sort of discomfort. The kind that necessitated talking.

“So Dean and I are making real good progress on the shuttle craft,” Charlie said.

“Are you?”

“Mmm Hmm,” she nodded, “she really got banged up there, but she’ll be as good as new in no time.” Charlie said, looking up from her plate. Probably expecting Dean to chime in with more details or some sort of positive reaction from Commander stick-up-his-firm-ass. The latter nodded.

“Good,” he said, his face as firm as ever. He glanced over to Dean. “We may need it in functional order soon.”

“Oh yeah?”

Castiel nodded.

Charlie nodded.

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Cool,” Charlie said. They ate for a bit, well - Charlie and Dean ate for a bit. Quietly. Castiel just sat beside them, silent as a vigil. Charlie’s eyes dodged between her table-mates and the door whenever it opened. Dean had long since stopped expecting any friendly faces to come thru when he had his meals. Sam was never in the cafeteria when he was. Whether that was because Sam had a different meal rotation or if he just took all his meals in his quarters or if he managed to slip out if ever he spotted Dean eating - well it was all the same wasn’t it. It was for the best. Would make it that much easier when he ditched this ship.

Dean eyed the chief security officer. His hair was dark and a lot tidier than it was back when they were on the planet together. His eyes were just as tired looking tho, and blue. Red uniform, clean and crisp and soft looking. The long sleeves, hiding thick arms, his fingers delicated folded over themselves…

What a dick. 

A dick who just sat there quietly while others ate.

“So,” Charlie said, “Castiel, how’s the day so far?”

Commander stick-ass blinked, eyes getting all narrowed, like this was some grand and difficult question. He looked over to Dean, fuck knows why. And then he just stared. All focused and concentrated like. With his damn blue eyes. They betrayed the stern look on his face, the spotless and tidy uniform, the by-the-book interrogation after Dean had gotten released from sick bay. They were kind and sad and caring.

Dean looked away when he realized they were staring.

“It uh,” Castiel started, “it has been… good. I turned in a report and I believe it will yield beneficial results.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yes.” He could feel the guy’s damn blue eyes on him again.

“What’ya got planned for the rest of the day?” Charlie said, “Prepping for that upcoming drop-off?”

“No uh… I’m…” 

Dean looked up in time to see the Commander’s nervously look around the table, take a deep breath and say, “No, I will be accompanying you for the rest of the day.”

“You’re what.” Dean could’ve growled it if he knew how.

“Wha- What about Jo?” Charlie said.

“Jo is well,” Castiel said, “she was overdue for break and needed to rest.”

“Oh.. Okay,” Charlie said, disappointed. Then with more spirit, “sorry. I didn’t mean it like that - I mean, it’ll be great. We’ll- We are super happy for you to join us.” She smiled.

And it looked like a damn real smile.

Dean gripped his fork. He felt his knuckles go white. He forced it open and the fork clattered on the tray. The other two looked at him. 

“I’m done eating.”


	4. Tall Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this waaaas gonna be longer but i need to rewrite some (all) of the stuff and it didn't flow right - SO HERE YA GO (because I promised my three loyal readers an update - and can I just say how amazingly amusing it is that I correctly guessed the number of commenters on my last chapter? It is tremendously amusing and i love you all - and also those who didn't comment/commented later, thank you for reading it this far you are amazing end of note).

Charlie held Castiel back when they reached the docking hanger. Dean walked on. His eyes were fixed on the shuttle craft. He picked up a tool box and headed to the interior of the craft without a word. He hadn’t spoken since they left the cafeteria. Dean hadn’t looked at him once since leaving the cafeteria. Castiel followed his movements, eyes narrowed, before he turned to Charlie.

“Uh, Commander,” she said, “permission to speak freely sir.” She smiled nervously.

“Of course, Charlie,” he said, “go ahead.”

Castiel was not particularly close with most of the crew. It didn’t bother him too much. He had a job to do. He did his job. So long as the chain of command was respected - he didn’t really care. He had no plans for command of his own vessel, no need to form long-term relationships, and no talent for it. 

Charlie was one of the few he considered to be a friend. They’d gone on an mission together a few years ago, one which faced a few unfortunate twists. And they’d bonded. Or, more appropriately, Charlie had announced that they had bonded. There are experiences that tie together even the most unfortunate of characters. 

Charlie was a bit of a recluse herself. True she mastered social disciplines, but she kept to herself in all the ways that might count. An arm’s distance - that was the expression.

“Great,” Charlie smiled, friendly as ever, “so uh, no offense,” the smile dropped, “but what is going on.”

“I’m- what do you mean?”

“You’re guarding Dean?”

“Yes.”

“You? The head of security on the ship.”

“Yes, I believe I have the credentials.”

“Uh yeah, and then some!” Charlie huffed, “You have a million and four things to do.”

“That’s inaccurate.”

“Off point much? Why are you here? Is-” she glanced back to the shuttlecraft, to ensure Dean was still out of view, “-is starfleet coming over to pick him up?”

“No. Not now. I uh, I made the case that he should - that his record should be cleared.”

“Woah, what?”

“The majority of them were barely criminal-”

“Oh my gosh, are you a clone or something?”

“Charlie.”

“Sorry, I just -” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “Okay. Why? I mean, not that I’m arguing against it, I think Dean’s a good egg, but - why do you?”

It was a valid question. One he’d certainly spent a great deal of time on.

On paper Dean wasn’t anything more than that. He’d grown up in a disfavourable environment, most likely began with minor crimes as a child. Probably out of necessity, but isn’t that always the reason. Isn’t that always how it starts. Sam had faced the same experiences, hadn’t he? Sam had gotten out, made his way to starfleet, worked hard to overcome his struggles, graduated top of his class and . If Sam could do it, why didn’t Dean. 

And, of course, there were his activities themselves. He’d stolen, transported merchandise illegally, there were multiple counts of fraudulent identity claims associated with his file, even a few possible deaths.

There was nothing about his file to suppose a second chance should be given.

Which is why Castiel spent the last week rewriting said file.

Finding testimony of those who claimed he had helped. He had brought in desperately needed medical supplies when the federation couldn’t - or wouldn’t due to this and that peace agreement. And those dead, their deaths had been celebrated by the locals, who had just before mourned the deaths of their own. It was impossible of course to reason out every one of his record. Unnecessary even, as some were outside of federation jurisdiction.

“I believe he will be invaluable in our investigation of the Y.E.D. organization.”

Charlie knitted her brow, but otherwise said nothing. She looked over to the shuttlecraft. There was a soft tinkering coming from within.

“Charlie,” Castiel said, “you’ve spent time with him. I need him to cooperate-”

Charlie scoffed.

“We need him to agree to work with us.” Castiel sighed, “I need to… establish a… a bond of sorts.”

“A bond?”

“His contacts and intel are crucial to the investigation. We need to show him that we are on the same side.”

Charlie’s look softened, “That’s a tall order to fill.”

“Yes.”

“Cas…” She glanced the shuttle craft over once more before turning to him, “Cas, he’s still… His dad just died.”

Castiel took a heavy breath and looked away. “Has Sam come by?”

“No, Not since last time. Have you seen him?”

“Yes, he’s helping me create a file of the Y.E.D.”

“How is he?”

“Eager. He’s very interested in continuing his father’s research.”

Castiel had had to order him to rest. The fact that he has since disrupted his usual social activities were also of concern. Gabriel said he’d look into it. He is, after all, Sam’s supervisor.

“So that’s… good?”

“I’m not sure.” He had never worked with Sam before, not before the Crossruds mission. Perhaps he was acting normally. But it felt all wrong. “He’s very enthusiastic about the mission. He doesn’t seem to be able to focus on anything else.”

“Yeah that tends to happen,” Charlie muttered.

Castiel glanced up, frowning at her.

“Anyway,” she said too quickly, “I should get in there before he reprograms the computer dialect setting again.”

“Very well,” Castiel said with a nod, before she sauntered off, very intend on escaping he conversation to fiddle with some wires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will eventually master writing longer chapters. Eventually - i'mma get there i swear and appreciate your readership <3


	5. Communication Disarray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean just wants to tinker his troubles away. (not a euphemism)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was important to me for personal reasons so obviously i rewrote it 8 times and I'm sorry it's late but I went on vacation before it was ready and I will make up for it by posting a second chapter shortly (within 24hours) and I hope you've been well and if not I offer you some sympathy hugs offer you my cat to cuddle with. He's very friendly. Unless you have allergies. Don't touch him if you have allergies.

Dean spends the rest of the day burying himself in work. The task of the day is the communication’s system. (It got fried up bad.) It was the last mechanical repair to be done. 

Charlie sticks around. She hands him tools, corrects him when he isn’t doing something that’s up to ‘Starfleet’ standards (when would you even use a 3rd backup generator?), and tries a few jokes. It’s good. They share tasks. They pass the time. And they work fast. Very fast.

Apart from a few dents and scratched paint, the ship was operational. Heck it was good enough now - but Charlie shrugged it off, saying there were still a few things that needed doing.

Dean wasn’t going to argue.

He was pretty sure though that most damaged shuttles got repaired in half the time. (In his defense he was still sorta severely injured for most of the first week.)

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Charlie said, putting her tools away. “There’s plenty of repair work on this ship.”

She grinned and joked - like that was that. All was settled. Of course, Dean would stay on the ship. Of course, they would carve out a place for him. He could have his own room, and duties, and work, and make friends, chatting over meals and exploring new worlds, helping others out. As if he was one of them.

Of course, Dean knew better.

He was an outlaw. Even if he wasn’t that, he didn’t have the brains for Starfleet. He didn’t have the skills, or the know-how. They were keeping him here for now, for however long - but it was temporary. He was a prisoner. He was of interest. He wasn’t a part of the crew, he was just useful. 

Dean worked in silence. He let himself focus on the task at hand, stopping any thoughts, letting his hands move, productively. Time passing on by. After the communication’s array, there was the panel to reassemble, and tinkering here and there.

After her fourth yawn and Dean’s third refusal to stop for the night, Charlie bid him goodnight. He wasn’t hungry and he wasn’t tired. He just needed to do something. Something other than lying in bed.

He yawned when he’d finished the interior. Everything was clean and tidy and ready for inspection.

Or whatever.

Just a few more panels to rearrange on the outer hull and then-

Then that’ll be it.

He packed up his tools and walked out of the shuttle door. He nearly dropped his box when he realized he wasn’t alone.

A few meters from the craft, Castiel stood guard. Watching him. Staring right at him. He raised his head, ever so slightly.

Dean scowled, opened his mouth to ask - to yell out some accusation. Dude’s shift must’ve ended hours ago. But he closed it and turned away. If he wanted to stand up all night in an empty docking bay watching him? Then fine. He can stand and wait. 

Wouldn’t want to have the dangerous criminal running around unsupervised.

Whatever.

He marched around, over to the side of the shuttle, and dropped his toolbox on a nearby container. He started wiping down the panel. It needed to be reattached and any dust or grime left inside could do some serious wiring damage in space. He’d gone over half of it when Commander Strong and Silent came over. Dean grit his teeth, but Castiel didn’t say anything. Just walked over and stood there. Staring. 

Damn creeper.

Dean stopped his wiping and turned his best glared onto his guard. But when he looked over Castiel wasn’t glaring back. Which… okay.

He stepped forward and picked up the sonic-driver Dean had left by his foot.

Panel installations were easier with two sets of hands.

Dean eyed him suspiciously but nodded his assent.

He put the panel in place and held it while Castiel screwed it in - enough for the panel to hold while Dean let go. Castiel handed him the driver. “Thanks.” And then he got an awful long eye contact and respectful nod.

And then he had to move away.

“Dean-”

And it was the way he said it. Soft and pliant tone. Asking. Intimate. Gently. What the hell.

“What.” Dean snapped, ready to throw a punch. Ready to yell and scream and insult. Ready to throw away anything he might receive. Just to make it clear.

He didn’t care.

“I…” Castiel lowered his eyes, “I’d like to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Dean said with disgust and distrust, mouth curving with it. “For what?”

“For your father.” He looked up. Met his eye.

Dean stared at him. His arms stiff, his chest heavy, and his feet stuck.

“The fuck you apologizing for.”

Castiel stared back, frowning now.

“What the fucking hell,” Dean said, voice rising, “are you apologizing for.” It echoed in the empty docking back. Amplifying the room, the chamber. It was big and empty, but for the two of them. Two tiny pointless beings.

“He died-”

“I know that!” Dean said, ignoring the shake in his jaw when he wasn’t using it. “You don’t think I fucking know that?”

“We were separated,” Cas kept going after a small pause. “I didn’t think to form a more careful strategy and your father-” Voice calm and quiet. It was horrible. How normal he tried to make it. How reasonable this all was. His dad was dead. Dead because he had tried to keep Dean alive. It wasn’t right that voices should be calm and words reasonable. “And I’m sorry-”

“Shut up,” Dean turned away, “just shut up.”

Castiel didn’t respond, and after taking a few breaths, Dean turned back around. Poor bastard actually looked confused.

“What.”

“I…,” Castiel took a deep breath, letting it out like a regretful sigh, looking down, “I understand if you’re angry with me, you have every right-”

“Oh you have got to be-”

“You have every right to be angry with me, Dean.”

“Don’t you fucking get it?” Dean snapped, words bitter and uncontrolled. “He died saving me. And if it hadn’t been for me, if I hadn’t convinced you guys to go back after he’d turned us away - hell, if I hadn’t called Sam over in the first place-”

“Dean, you don’t know what would’ve happened.”

“You don’t get it, okay. I was supposed to take care of him, take care of Sam - I was supposed to make sure they were okay. It was my job. And I couldn’t!”

“It wasn’t your job.”

“Of course it was; What else am I good for?!” 

He hadn’t meant to say it. 

His eyes burnt and his chest felt deserted. The words echoed in the empty. And it hurt. It hurt because more than anything else, Dean was certain it was true. 

And nothing in this world could convince him otherwise.

“Dean…” Cas said, “your father- His choices were his own. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your responsibility to-”

“And what do you know?” Dean turned to Castiel, jaw clenched. 

What did he know. What did he know about him, about their dad, about anything in his life. Sure - maybe - it wasn’t, maybe it was unusual. Big news. Maybe it wasn’t right. Maybe it wasn’t fair.

Tough.

Who the hell said life was fair. His certainly wasn’t. He had expectations to meet. He had duties and responsibilities. And he fucked them up. He ruined everything. 

They would’ve been better off without him.

“You don’t know anything about my dad. You don’t know anything about me or my family. So don’t bother pretending cuz I ain’t buying.”

“I’m not.” There was a terse edge to his tone and Dean felt relieved to hear it. To get a reaction that wasn’t pity.

Dean stared. Ready to fight, ready to swing ugly words and raise his fists. Ready to placate whatever mess was tearing him up inside. He wasn’t sure if this was worse then when mom died. He had loved her, sure, but it was so far away and he was so much younger. And back then, he had his dad, and Sammy, and he knew- he thought things could be okay. Him and dad and Sammy. He knew better now.

Castiel glared back, stance taut but hands loose on his side. There was more than just menace in his gaze though. It was like he was analyzing him. Didn’t make any sense. Finally he opened his mouth.

“I have presented the Federation council assigned to determining your fate a new evaluation of your records.”

Dean scoffed.

“The hits just keep on coming, don’t they?” he snarled.

“They offer a better description of your past actions and motivations.”

A mocking grin spread across Dean’s face, “You trying to revive the death penalty?”

Something painful flashed across Castiel’s eyes, his features morphing to a helpless confusion before hardening once more “No, of course not.” His anger and frustration bled away. “I..” He sighed and looked away. “I’m trying to clear your record.”

It took a few seconds for Dean’s brain to catch up. “What?”

“Most of your offenses were relatively minor - at least those on record. There are a few cases which held you accountable based purely on circumstantial evidence, which Sam believes we can de-credit-”

“Sam? You’ve been working with Sam on this?”

“Yes.”

Dean nodded absently, “To clear my… Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah - why? Why me? Why the fuck are you bothering to clear my name?”

Castiel frowned. “Good things do happen Dean.”

That was the dumbest thing Dean had ever heard.

“Not in my experience.”

Castiel stared at him. There was nothing argumentative about it. No desire to compare or to pull out any stats, and for that, Dean was grateful for that much.

“Oh let me guess,” Dean sharpened his grimace as the realization twisted like shrapnel in his guts, “You need me for something.” 

Castiel confusion on mounted and for a second Dean thought he might realize the mistake he made. Call off the whole thing. Order him to be confined to his quarters or dropped off on the nearest habitable planet-

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.” 

Of course not. No. No. No.

He grit his teeth. “Why the hell are you doing it.”

That dumb pained look stayed in place, but Castiel did straighten his shoulders, “We do need your help investigating the possibility of the YED. If what you’ve told me is correct-” he shook his head, “-then they need to be stopped.”

“What, you think I’m lying?”

“That’s the problem,” he looked back up, a solemn expression gracing his features, “I don’t.”

Dean licked his lips, looking away. “And what does Starfleet think?”

“I’m still waiting on final approval,” Castiel said. “I should receive confirmation soon.”

“Yeah sure,” Dean scoffed “Great. I’m going to bed,” Dean said throwing a rag down. “Let me know those pigs are flyings.”

Castiel frowned after him.

  



	6. 2am and I'm still awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News in the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY I'M GONNA POST THIS WITHOUT THINKING TOO HARD ON IT BECAUSE FUCK IT MWAAHAHAH  
> damn i gotta move this plot forward.

When Castiel Novak got to his room, he left the lights off. He stayed by the door a moment, eyes shut, shoulders finally dropping, and letting out a heavy breath. He’d notified the shift’s communications to alert him as soon as a response from starfleet came in. Dean was in his quarters, safe and hopefully asleep.

And now he was alone.

He breathed in deeply, walked over to his bed, removed his boots, and laid down.

He was tired. He’d been on duty - awake - for over 24 hours. It had taken longer than expected to complete his research on Dean’s record - what with his active duty still taking up much of his time… He’d started almost immediately but…

Castiel closed his eyes, tried to relax, but found his body stiff and tense. Dean-

Dean blamed himself. Try as he might Castiel couldn’t shake away the look in his eyes when he had admitted it.

_What else am I good for._

How could he possibly think his entire existence boiled down to caring for others?  For people who were supposed to care for him.  

When they’d come back - Dean wouldn’t wake up. His pulse was imperceptible. His blood pressure was too low. He feared… The doctor rejuvenated him. Castiel got pulled away for his own injuries. It took 4 hours before Dean woke up. He nearly died. His father died.

And Castiel didn’t stop it.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm the - the feelings brewing within, but instead images of the past fluttered forward.

Dean, bloodied and limp on the ground.

It wouldn’t have been the first man he lost in the field.

Castiel sat up, breathing deeply. Focusing. Anchoring his thoughts.

Breath in.

Breath out.

He couldn’t afford to be distracted this way. Not when his time was so close to ending. He needed to stay focused. This would no doubt be his last mission with Starfleet, and if he could spend it combating these forces - the YED - even if it was only to scratch the surface of it all. It would have to be enough.

Exhaustion must’ve finally won out because Castiel was soon awakened. He grumbled and rustled against his sheets as his monitor continued to beep.

“Novak here,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Good morning, Cassie,” Gabriel’s grinning visage came to screen, “hope I didn’t wake up,” an eyebrow raised. 

He glared back. “This better not be a personal call.”

“No, no,” Gabriel chuckled, “I believe you requested to be told as soon as starfleet had a reply?”

That woke him up.

“Patch it through.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean wasn’t sure what was worst: lying in the dark waiting for exhaustion to finally knock you out while a hundred images teased and taunted you, or the dreams. At least while he was awake, he knew what was real.

The ancient greeks were right about Hope emerging from Pandora’s box.

He was no stranger to insomnia, but somehow it hurt all the more this time. Not just his dad, but himself. His mind offered glimpses of half-lived events, of possibilities and he wasn’t sure anymore how much of it was memory and how much was filled in. His time, captured by the YED, was only half remembered. Sammy had told him he had been taken for nearly a day. That their dad had insisted on forming a plan, on waiting for the right time to strike…

He probably knew best.

And Dean was well and alive. So it worked out.

Yay.

The sleeping wasn’t too bad. Most nights, once he finally managed to pass out, they were restless but mercilessly void of much. More or less.

The thoughts, gutting him again and again, reminding him of the pain he’d caused, of the pain he felt, of how he wasn’t going to get a hug, of how nobody was going to care that he was broken, of how he hurt everyone around him. He had to pick himself back up. It didn’t matter how tired he was, how worn he was by life, it didn’t matter what he wanted, needed. He had to be brave. He had to wake up, and eat, and live on.  Because...

Because?...

The worst dream so far was one he’d never admit out loud. He dreamt his dad was alive. That he barged onto the ship, found Sammy and they both came and barged in on Dean milling around doing nothing. His dad was pissed. Pissed he hadn’t broken out already. Pissed Dean had actually believed he’d died. Dean hadn’t even cared that he’d gotten yelled out for most of it. His dad was alive. And Sammy was there, grinning at him, teasing him. They hugged. Sammy said he was leaving starfleet - “You really think I’m just gonna let you leave alone? We’re family. We’re supposed to look out for each other.”

And he woke up.

And reality sunk back in.

And the contrast made it all the worst.

His dad was dead. Sam wasn’t talking to him. Sam didn’t want anything to do with him. Sam wanted Starfleet and a shiny ship and wanted to forget about his shit dad and his shit brother. Dean was just an ugly reminder of what was dragging him down.

And it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad - he’d rather get stabbed or shot or anything physical. Cause at least then he’d know how to stitch himself back up, how long it might take ‘til he was recovered and back to being fit for battle. But this? He didn’t know how to move on from this.

From spending your whole life trying to help your family, trying to keep it together as it broke and splintered.   Battered down but still good, still there, still possible.  And now - now he was alone.

So what the fuck was the point.

But there was only so long you could stay awake. Only so many excuses to avoid the comforts of bed. Weary though he was, peace was to no avail.

And so Dean was still awake when his door chimed, signaling someone’s intent to enter.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Starfleet approved Castiel’s mission.

It was energizing. It was the reason why Castiel pulled his boots on and marched out. His mind was already plotting the first meeting, reviewing candidates and building a team. And then he was in front of a door, nodding a greeting to the guard on duty before buzzing the door.

It took a few seconds for the door to open. Dean did not seemed pleased to see him.

“Didn’t you just leave.”

“Not exactly,” Castiel replied, then leaning forward, “Can I come in?”

Dean gave him a funny look and turned around and walked back in, “Yeah sure. Lights on.”

“Thank you,” he entered, “I have good news.”

“Yeah looks like,” Dean said. He rubbed at his eye. “You’re practically smiling.”

Castiel - prepared to explained many if not all the details of his report to starfleet, the target planets he wanted to examine for evidence to their case, even the science behind interspacial communication - did not know how to respond to such a statement. Particularly when it was followed by a shy curve of Dean’s own lips, a gentleness in his eyes - something he hadn’t seen since before the climax of their last mission.

It was nice…

“I uh,” Castiel said, eyes locked on Dean’s, “Yes. I have good news.”

Dean raised his eye brows. “You gonna make me guess?”

“Starfleet,” he said, lifting the pad, “has approved my mission.”

“Your mission?”

“To investigate and, if possible, eliminate he YED threat.”

Dean nodded, the softness and small smile fading away. This was not the reaction Castiel had assumed and he frowned.

“It means they’ve approved my revisions.”

“Your revisions?”

“On your record.”

“Right.” He nodded, looking away and rubbing at face. “So I guess I’m all squeaky clean now? Past sins forgiven and forgotten?” He scoffed.

He scoffed?

He should be pleased. Grateful even. Castiel certainly hadn’t spent much time imagining this scenario, not with all his duties and his own troubles - but he never expected such… such nonchalance.

“Not exactly.”

Perhaps he didn’t understand.

“What? Bit of community service? Do I have to pay a fine or something? Cause I’ll tell you know I don’t have a drop of latinum to my name.”

Castiel kept staring. It didn’t make any sense. Dean was grinning. But it wasn’t anything like when Castiel had entered. There was no softness. Nothing gentle or sweet. It was an attack. Not predatorial. A dare. Wanting to be provoked. 

“Dean.”

This wasn’t his intent.

Dean looked up, his smirk fading. But his eyes kept the challenge. It flinched away, slightly, when Castiel kept his gaze.

“This is not a clean slate,” he said. “Your past will always remain, if for no other reason, because you continue to carry it. But this is a chance. You would be foolish to throw it away.”

Dean stared back. “I’ve done dumber.”

“Well,” Castiel said looking away, “this time,” he stepped forward and looked back up, “you don’t have a choice. The condition for your past exemptions is to relegate all necessary and possible information and to aid in my mission.”

“Your mission?”

“My mission.”

“So you want to take down the YED?”

“Yes.”

Dean pursed his lips and looked away. “Great.”

It wasn’t dismissively said, so Castiel took it as an affirmative. “We’ll discuss it in greater detail tomorrow, there'll be a meeting at 1100.” Dean still seemed unhappy. “Sam will be participating in the meeting.” Dean tensed.

“Sam’s in on this?”

“Yes, he’s… eager.”

Dean sighed, heavily, and rubbed his face over, elbows on his knees.

Castiel waited a few more seconds - there wasn’t much else to say - but his initial excitment was not begining to wane and he was still extremely sleep deprived. Which was probably why he did what he did next.

Dean - Dean looked tense and unhappy. Castiel didn’t want him to be unhappy. He had come, hoping, with good news. A ray of sunlight. Something happy. But instead he’d be leaving Dean stressed and sad. This was worse. This was unacceptable. He took a step forward and another. Dean looked up.

“Let me…” He held up his hand, two fingers stretching up, hovering by Dean’s forehead. He frowned. “To help with the stress.”

“I’m not stressed.”

“With the insomnia then.”

“I’m not insomnia… What?”

“It’ll help.”

Dean stared at him, at his hand, hesitantly for a moment, then nodded his consent. Castiel moved his hand closer, his fingers hugging his forehead, closed his eyes in concentration.

"What are you doing?"

Castiel kept his eyes closed.  "Caelien."

"What?"

"It's - It's meant to offer comfort."  Castiel opened his eyes.  Dean was very close.  And staring at him. 

"Okay."

His hand was still on Dean's forehead, but he could feel the effect finally starting.  It wasn't normally accomplished with outsiders or strangers, but there was a definite buzz - a stabilization between their energies.  Castiel found himself brushing over Dean's forehead, brushing his hair - it was soft...

"Do you feel comforted?"  He asked, his voice gentler than he meant.

"Yeah..."

He looked it.  His shoulders relaxed, his eyes drooped, his lips-

"Good."  He moved his hand off, it hovered between them - wanting to return, Dean - leaning forward ever so slightly.  it was of course just the effect of Caelien.  "Good night Dean."  

"Night Cas."

It was just an after effect.

 

 


	7. Meeting the Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Meeting of team "let's catch the YED" (team name TBD - temporary name given by Dr Garth Fitzgerald)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> protip for writer motivation: don't look at the stats don't look at the stats don't look at the stats
> 
> protip for writer motivation: A single (or 3 of 4) reader is an important reader. An actual human being read and enjoyed (?) and the CONTINUED TO READ???? Fucking awesome. 
> 
> ALSO  
> there are some a few gory details - but nothing worst than what's been on spn.

Dean woke up from the best damn sleep and for a minute everything was great. Peaceful. Then it all flooded back.

And then the door chimed again.

He grumbled up and out and hit the door switch. A red shirt, with matching hair, stood before him.

“Gooooood morning!” Charlie smiled.

“Hey.”

He flicked the lights on, turned over and tumbled back into a nearby chair. Charlie hopped in hugging a PADD to her chest.

“Happy to see you got some shut eye last night, but now’s not really the time, don’t ya think?” She grinned. “I heard the good news.”

“Good news?”

“Yeah! The new mission!”

“The -Oh,” he said, right. How do you know about it?”

Charlie rolled her eyes, “Are you kidding? What don’t I know.”

“How to please a man?” He teased.

“Ew, no thank you.” She made a face and shook her head.

“How to talk to Jo?”

“Point. Castiel told me. Actually he recruited. And I am very excited.”

“Great.” Dean rubbed his eye and yawned.

“I’m actually here to bring you to the meeting.”

“What meeting?”

“For the mission?” She frowned. “Didn’t you get the invoice?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Okay, one - you need caffeination so bad I’m feeling tired; two-”

Charlie walked over to the desk he sat at, where a small monitor stood. She hit a button, “Computer, relay all messages directed to Dean Winchester.”

“ _Working_.” The computer beeped. “ _Total messages received: 14._ ”

“I have messages?” Dean said, “Who the heck even knows I’m here?”

“Computer, read aloud, the last received message.”

“ _Confirmed. Last message, titled: Meeting Itinerary, Sender: Lt Cmdr Castiel Novak of the USS Persephone, time: -_ ”

“Stop, stop, stop,” Dean waved a hand, and turned to Charlie, “When’s the meeting?”

“20 minutes.”

Dean groaned.

“Aren’t you glad I’m here.”

“Did you bring me coffee?”

“I’m not you’re yeoman.”

“I have a yeoman?”

“No,” Charlie frowned. “Why on earth would you get a yeoman? I don’t even get a yeoman.”

Dean shrugged.

“I will come with you to get coffee tho.”

“Okay.” Dean stood up.

“Also,” she said proudly, “there’s this.” She held out her PADD.

“What?”

“Now - before I tell you - I want you to appreciate how many favours I pulled and, I mean, Castiel helped with the Captain - but I did pretty much all the boring paperwork trailing and negotiated with a Ferengi vessel. Have you ever dealt with them? Ugh awful. Not recommended.”

“Yeah, they’re kinda dicks.”

“Totally.”

She handed him the PADD. Dean frowned and looked down. It was a confirmation report for a transport.

“Wait - is this?”

“Yup.”

“How did you even-”

“Sam told me.”

Dean felt a swell of pride which quickly got drowned out by the usual despair and sadness. Still, he smiled.

“You got my ship.”

“I got your ship,” she smiled. “She’s not bad eh.”

“Not bad?” Dean frowned, insulted. Assaulted. “Not bad???”

“Yeah,” Charlie shrugged, unapologetic.

Dean shook his head, lips still tugged up “C’mon. Let’s get some coffee.”

 

* * *

 

Sam was being helpful. Cas was certain Sam believed he was being helpful. He was offering as much information as he could. He told him of planets, of possible schemes, of names and characters to investigated, and of ships.

But his knowledge was dated. Years. He’d been out of it for years. And before that - before that his father hadn’t exactly shared everything he knew with him. He knew how to fight, how to spot dangers, and how to survive nearly any situation - he’d been well trained, and had received commendation at starfleet academy for it. He was an excellent addition to the mission’s team. But before any of that could be put to use, they needed a lead. A good solid lead.

Anything.

“Do you know when your brother is coming?” He interrupted Sam’s explanation of some case, 10 years ago. The inhabitants of a world, or rather the survivors of a massacred town, had described their assailants as having black eyes, bleeding very little, and yet having such a thirst for the blood of others that they had strung a man’s intestine around him and his family, as if it were a rope, licking it dry, before killing them. It was similar to all the other cases Sam had described. To those which he and his brother investigated alongside their father.

To have brought your children to such a scene…

Sam blinked and looked away. “Uh, I’m not sure.”

“I appreciate your insight, ensign,” Castiel said, “and your enthusiasm to share, but I don’t believe any information you or the records I’ve already throughly researched, are an accurate assessment of the current situation.”

Sam nodded, eyes flickering away. Garth was sitting next to him, looking pale from the Sam’s vivid descriptions and grateful for the interruption. Ensign Meg Masters sat next to Castiel, her arms crossed, looking as bored as ever.

“If we could get a hold of my dad’s journal,” Sam continued, “I’m sure it could tell us everything we needed to know.”

“Well it wasn’t on him when he died.”

“Are you sure-”

“I’m sure.”

“Maybe they stole it,” Meg said.

“Who?”

“Them.” She gave a pointed nod. “The YED people, Alastair. They could’ve searched his body before you found it.”

“It’s unlikely they would’ve bothered unless they knew he was carrying vital information with him,” Cas said. “And it’s unlikely he would have carried such vital information with him into the ‘den of the beast’ as it were.”

“He never went anywhere without it.” This was, to Sam, a truth that could not be disbuted and Cas could only shake his head. Not a dismissal, not an objection. He sighed softly. This was getting them nowhere.

“If they have his journal-”

“We can’t be sure of that-” The door chimed softly as it opened. Charlie marched in, closely followed by Dean cradling a cup. He walked in, eyes darting from Sam to Castiel to Meg to Sam to Garth and then to anywhere else. Sam tensed up. Garth waved at him. Castiel looked over the new arrivals.

“You’re late.”

“Sorry Commander,” Charlie shrugged with a grin (clearly unapologetic), “but I come bearing gifts.” She held out a PADD to Castiel.

“Heya Dean,” Garth smiled, “how you feeling today?”

“Fine.” Dean took a seat at the furthest end of the table, next to Charlie who sat next to Meg.

“Hey,” Meg nodded a hello.

“Dean, Meg Masters,” Charlie said an introduction, “Meg, Dean. Ensign Masters is specialized in exo-BioChemistry and neuro-atypical behaviour.”

“Okay.” He stared down at his coffee.

“Nice to meet ya too.” She said in a flat tone.

After glancing over the PADD, Castiel frowned, “What is ‘the impala’?”

Sam leaned forward to read over Castiel. “You found her?”, he nearly pulled the PAD from Castiel’s hand.

“Heck yeah I did,” Charlie smirked.

“Seriously?” A small smile formed on his lips.

“Weren’t you in on this?” Dean said. Sam looked up. His smile froze for a second. Dean was frowning, but he was looking at him.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said, “sort of.”

“He told me about it. Her. Is it a her?”

“What the heck are you all talking about?” Meg said.

“It’s our ship,” Sam said.

“Your ship?” Castiel said, frowning confusedly.

“She’s the prettiest ship in quadrant,” Dean smiled. He seemed quite pleased with himself.

“Woah boy,” Charlie said, “you dare such slander while aboard my Persephone.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean said, grinning with good-natured, “I’ll admit your lady is lovely as well.”

“The Persephone’s energy converter is 5 times more efficient than the Impala.” Sam said nonchalantly.

“Hey,” Dean frowned at him, “you watch your manners.”

Sam shrugged. “I’m just stating facts.”

Dean continued to be offended (on the Impala’s behalf).

“You should be more grateful for it’s antiquated converter,” Charlie butted in.

“HEY.”

“I’m just saying,” Charlie shrugged, “the only reason I was able to track it down was thanks to it’s useless beta neutrino emissions.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. Accepting her excuse/explanation - barely.

“Charlie,” Castiel said, he held up the PADD, “How is this a gift?”

Behind her Dean rolled his eyes.

“Right,” Charlie said, “so the ship-”

“The Impala,” Dean interrupted.

“The Impala, it’s Dean’s ship.”

Castiel looked over to Dean, meeting his eyes before looking back at Charlie. “I’ve surmised that.”

“Right, and I found it - I mean Dean said he left it on some moon, but then this neighbouring planet decided ‘hey let’s blow shit up!’ and boom! There she goes, floating off into space.”

“They blew up the ship?”

“No. Sort of. They blew up their moon. I mean, they tech is behind our capabilities so they have limited scanning, so obviously they never knew about the ship- but I guess they finally figured out how to make a nuke and… got bored?”

Castiel was confused and disturbed. Charlie shrugged.

“So the ship got detached and was floating in space for awhile.”

“It survived the explosion?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t at the heart of it.”

“She’s probably got a few scratches on her,” Dean said. His eyes darted away when he said it, mumbling almost. As if he didn’t understand what a feat it was to survive such a blow.

“Of course,” Castiel said. “But how does that help us?”

Charlie looked at him, then (encouragingly) to Dean.

It takes Dean a minute.

“I got stuff there.”

Castiel frowned, cocking his head. Dean closed his eyes and let out a minute sigh before continuing.

“It’s got a log of every planet and coordinate I’ve seen activity at in the last 3 years, analysis of samples I got, anything I’ve ever learned about the YED is on that ship and…” Dean paused, glancing at his brother, “and some stuff from my dad.”

Sam leaned forward.

“When he went off without me, he left a bag with some of his shit. I grabbed it and tossed it in.”

“Do you know what the content was?” Castiel said.

“No,” Dean said. “I didn’t check.” He hazard a glance at Sam.

“Maybe that’s where it’s at,” Sam said, turning to Castiel. “The journal.”

“Maybe.”

Dean frowned.

“You mean dad’s journal?” He said. “It wasn’t on him?”

“No.”

“Shit.”

“What’s this about a journal?” Charlie asked.

“Our dad’s journal,” Sam said, “he kept notes on everything, anything.”

“Oh,” Charlie said, “cool. Sounds helpful. Except it’s MIA. Okay great. Gotcha.”

“It might be on the ship.”

“Makes as much sense as anywhere else,” Garth said.

“I guess,” Dean said skeptically.

“Maybe he knew.”

“Knew?” Dean repeated.

“Yeah, maybe he knew,” Sam said pensively, “that something was going to happen to him.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable possibility. Considering what happened. Considering the risks. Considering it all. It wasn’t beyond belief. But when Castiel turned his attention back to Dean, he saw rage and anger and beyond that: betrayal. Dean’s eyes were fixed on Sam. Sam offerdc a soft reply, a plea.

“Maybe he knew something was gonna happen. And he gave you the journal to safe guard it. To keep going.”

Dean turned away. Charlie was silent behind him.

“It seems like a promising lead,” Castiel said, hurrying to change the topic. “Is the ship on route?”

“Yes and no,” Charlie said. “A nearby Federation ship picked her up now, so she’s contained -” Dean made a face “- but we aren’t going to be in the same sector any time soon. Flick to the next file.” She pointed to the PADD. Castiel did, it was a time scheduled map, comparing the Persephone and another ship. Castiel sighed.

“Crowley’s ship.”

“Yeah, he said you knew each other?” Charlie said.

“Was this really the only ship available?”

“Only one in a light year. He bargained on our behalf with some Ferengi for her. Is he,” she hesitated, “bad?”

Dean raised his eyebrows, interested, invested - ready to punch someone over his baby’s safety.

“I’ve definitely had worse,” Meg said.

“He’s manageable,” Castiel corrected. “When can we meet?”

“A bit over a week.”

“A week?” Dean cried out.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, sympathetically. “He said he had some business to handle, and that we weren’t high priority or something.”

“Did he try to open the ship?”

“Did he WHAT.” Dean said, he seemed upset.

“I… don’t know,” Charlie said. “I kinda assumed he was your… acquaintance so he’d be respectful?”

“He better fucking be respectful.”

“Dean.”

“He better be a damn perfect gentleman!”

“Dean,” Castiel tried again, “what kind of security features are on your ship?”

“It’s DNA-locked.”

“It’s what now?” Charlie asked.

“It’s… I rigged it so only those with certain DNA can open it.”

“That sounds.. Arduous.”

“Well it’s not the only lock,” Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s high level for when I gotta leave her alone for a few days.”

“Okay.” Charlie said, “I guess that means she’s safe?”

Dean crossed his arms.

“In any case,” Castiel said, “we should do what we can now. Sam, Dean, you two should work together.”

“What,” Sam said.

“You both have information that needs to be compared, Dean, your field knowledge and current intel needs to be compared to Starfleet files. If you work together, we might find a lead.”

Sam nodded, eyes down.

“So what,” Dean said, not as passively, “we just sit and compare notes for a week?”

“Yes.”

Dean frowned at him.

“Ensign Masters and Doctor Fitzgerald will continue work on what samples we have. What have you too concluded so far?

“That whatever it is they got,” Meg said, still slouched in her seat, “fucks ya up real good. It attacks neurons, affects reuptake cycles, mitochondrial function, liver functions, iron absorption drops to nothing - total fuck up.”

“It’s true,” Garth nodded. “We haven’t been able to figure out why or how yet. And there’s no way we can even guess at a cure until then.”

“I can think of one subject we could look into,” Meg said, glancing over at Dean. He looked up, panic flaring in his eyes.

“You have your samples to work with,” Castiel said sternly. “Once we collect the Impala, you’ll be able to cross analyze other samples and data.”

“Well,” Garth said, “until we get that data, I’m afraid there isn’t much more for us to do. We’ve hit a bit of a wall.”

“Understood,” Castiel nodded, “The Persephone has a scouting mission tomorrow and I’ll be occupied with my own duties. I suppose until we meet with Crowley’s ship we won’t be able to advance much-”

“So what?” Dean said “-we’re just supposed to wait?”

“Yes.”

“While the YED keep on hulling, while people are in danger and dying - we’re gonna do nothing?”

Dean was glaring.

“There are limits to what we can do Dean. There are responsibilities to this ship, which a great number of people are depending upon-”

“So this is some side project?”

“The galaxy isn’t going to stop for our convenience. Supplies still need to be delivered, diplomats need to be met, the trivial pursuits of exploration continue on. And the last thing you would want to do, is even offer a hint to Crowley that that ship is worth anything but a trivial favour.”

Dean still wasn’t happy, but he didn’t argue past that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at that a decent length chapter


	8. Rocks and trees and trees and rocks and rocks and trees and trees and rocks and-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mission: small landing party to explore and perform initial analysis of planet - investigate for possible life and environmental conditions.  
> crew: Dr Garth Fitzgerald, Ensing Jo Harvelle, Lt Cmd Castiel Novak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shockingly continues to update
> 
> ** edited because I forgot to properly introduce Anna. :0

Captain Harvelle looked over the planet details once last time before making her decision.

“We’ll send a detail out to the northern hemisphere, right above that mountain range. It would be the best place for a settlement. There’s a river nearby, stable fluctuating temperatures - within their preference. Garth, you go take samples of the dirt and plants - make sure it matches up with what they wanted.”

“Yes, M’am,” Garth said smiling.

“You’ll take a security detail with you.”

“Do I have to?”

She looked up at him exasperated. “Yes.”

“With all due respect Captain, this is a completely harmless excusion.”

“Excursion?” she replied, quirking an eyebrow.

“There are absolutely no sights of animal life on this world. Not even a mosquito. The worst thing I’ll meet is an upturned tree root that’ll threaten to trip me.”

“As valuable as your input it, Doctor,” she restraint from rolling her eyes, “there are procedures and, for the last time, this is not your decision to make.” She stared at him. “Understood?”

“Yes Captain…”

“Good. So you take your samples, and you’ll be accompanied by Cmd Castiel and uh - who’s next on the roster?”

Castiel didn’t have to check.

“Ensign Harvelle.”

The Captain looked up, alarm flashing across her face - but only for a split second - before composing itself.

“Are you sure she’s… ready?”

“Absolutely,” Castiel replied without hesitation. “And I’ll be there to make sure of it.” The Captain held his gaze for a moment before nodding.

Ensign Jo Harvelle had worked extremely hard. She jumped at any opportunity to prove herself, pushed herself further and harder than anyone else under Castiel’s command. She had graduated from the Academy a year earlier. It is possible that Captain Harvelle, her mother, influenced the decision of Jo’s assignment, but if anything it had forced Jo to push herself harder because of it. To prove to herself, to her shipmates, to her mother - who she could be.

The Captain, however, remained protective. He imagined the reasons behind this must have to do with the death of her husband, Jo’s dad.

Castiel had worked under the command of Captain Ellen Harvelle for 3 years now. She was brave, ingenious, and resourceful, but her greatest strength, or rather the Persephone’s, was her ability to care and organize those in need. Space exploration was always hazardous, but many forget the necessity of planning, of following guidelines, of precision. They forget. And that’s how they die.

The greatest skill a Captain may possess, is the ability to plan and resolve issues of plans gone askew. Captain Harvelle was always ready with a plan of action. But more than that, she was always prepared to help those in need, to organize and find those who lost themselves among the stars. He couldn’t quite understand why she was so hesitant to do the same with Dean.

“Alright then,” Captain Harvelle said, “I guess that’s all. Dismissed, you’re to report to transport when we arrive, which should be… Bobby?”

“About an hour.”

“One hour from now. Dismissed.”

Castiel stood to leave, Garth right behind him.

“Hey Commander,” Garth said, once they were in the hall, “would it be alight if I brought a few rock samples up?”

Castiel narrowed eyes.

“You know what happened last time.”

“They fixed it,” Garth said. “Eventually.”

“We have the rule in place for a reason, and that’s exactly why you didn’t even try to ask the Captain about it.”

“The Captain said to take samples.”

“Dirt and plants.”

“Rocks are kinda like dirt.”

“Dirt in sealed containers placed in an anti-contamination trunk precisely designed-”

“Okay, okay, how about this: I scrap off tiny bits of the rock and put it in a tube?”

Castiel stared at him.

“You know,” Garth nodded, “you’re right- I should ask the Captain. I’ll be right back.” He turned back around and sped back to the meeting room before Castiel could say anything. He looked after him in annoyance and defeat.

 

* * *

 

Castiel walked to the transport room, PADD in hand, reviewing the final details of his mission. The location chosen was an optimal location for future settlers, there was a nearby source of clean water, flat land, suitable for farming, and it’s location on the planet made it of calm climate. Long farming seasons, a fair amount of rain, and moderate winters. Everything that could be done from a distance had been. They just needed to check the location out and collect samples - make sure the earth would be cultivable, the water free from dangerous pollutants, the local plant life amiable (unlike that one planet in sector 83 with poisonous flora). Today was for priliminary testing. Tomorrow they would inspect native plants and take samples, to see what was and wasn’t edible.

He looked back up as he turned the corner, as a door swoofed open. Dean was standing there. He seemed lost in thought, and Castiel lost his train of thought upon seeing him. Their eyes met.

“Hey.”

“Hello Dean.”

Dean’s eyes drifted down to the PADD he held. He gestured to it, walking a few steps to Castiel, letting the door close behind him. “Going off to your super important mission?”

“Yes.” Castiel blinked. “Starfleet it hopeful that we’ll be able to colonize this planet and make a base for this sector.”

“Awesome.” He didn’t sound excited.

“We’ll be doing our preliminary survey today, and then the next two days will be more extensive.”

“Hmm.”

“Did-” Castiel started, “how are you doing?”

“Fine.” He looked down the hall, then at Cas, “I’m doing fine.”

“Good.”

“Yup.” He raised a hand. “And now I’m going to my room.” He waved vaguely and walked off without waiting for a reply.

Castiel frowned at his retreating form. Looked back down to his PADD and continued to the transporter room.

 

* * *

 

Garth is excited as always to be on the landing team. Captain Harvelle deems it fit that the Chief Medicine Officer usually stays aboard the ship - since that’s where most people and where the med bay is. (Castiel also has a feeling it might have something to do with Garth’s untempered curiousity and optimism. He has a tendency to wander and forget instructions.) His inclusion in today’s mission was in great part due to his experience in settlements and esoteric fascination with horticulture.

They beam down into a flat clearing. The dirt is red and the sky a pale blue with pink clouds. Castiel takes out his tricorder, confirming the readings they had on the ship. The air is breathable, slightly more oxidated than the air they normally breathe on the ship, but far from lethal.

“Wow,” Garth says, taking a few steps forward and admiring the view.

“Are those clouds pink?” Jo comes up next. They’re both standing there, watching the clouds drift in the sky, a few strange tree-like plants off in the distance, petals dancing in the wind.

“I’m sure we’ll learn more once we get the samples.” Casteil says, putting his tricorder back in it’s casing. Garth turned to him with a great big smile on his face.

“We’re gonna need to collect cloud samples,” his smile grew, “and rain samples - gosh I hope I brought enough vials.” He held close his pack as Jo glanced over to the container that had beamed down with them - the purpose of which was to store Garth’s samples. “We gotta find a water source!”

Castiel nodded, “There should be one 2 kilometers from here.”

“Well what are we waiting for!”

Garth marched forward.

“The water source is in that direction.” Castiel said, and pointed to their left.

“Oh cool,” Garth turned and continued marching. “C’mon guys!”

“Okay then.”

“Jo.” Castiel gestured to the container. The large one which necessitated two people carry it. He took one handle.

“Crap,” Jo said grabbing the other. It was light, for now.

“Let’s get moving before he gets out of eyesight.”

* * *

 

“I do wish it would rain,” Garth said. He gazed longingly at the sky, at the thick pink clouds above.

“Atmospheric pressure indicate it won’t rain,” Castiel said, “not for quite a while.”

“I think you have enough samples to start,” Jos said. She stuck the label onto the latest tube, and put it into the container, onto it’s own casing.

“Okay, okay,” Garth said, turning back around, “we can - oh my goodness and graces!” His eyes went wide and focused on Jo’s shoulder.

Jo shot Castiel a cautious look, he was frowning at her.

“Jo,” Garth continued, “do you realize you have a leaf caught in your hair?”

“What?”

“Don’t move!” Garth moved forward and plucked it from her hair with the tweezers he held. “Isn’t that spiffy!” He grinned, and careful sealed the leaf into a plastic bag. “Hmm - oh! I don’t think this one’s categorized yet.”

“It’s just a leaf,” Jo said, brushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear, “it probably got blown into the area - doesn’t mean the plant is anywhere around here.”

“Good point,” Garth said, turning it over. He put the leaf back into the container and turned to Castiel. “We should return tomorrow to track it’s location - oh I could postulate the location with a schematic of wind patterns.”

“You can ask the Captain.”

“Think of it, hundreds of new plants, possible new rock formations, I mean we don’t even know what kind of readily available ore could be found in those mountains!”

“We aren’t here to colonize, we’re here to analyze and to determine the risks for future possible colonists.”

Garth nodded along.

“I’m gonna ask he Captain.”

“Great,” Jo said, sealing the container shut, “so we’re done?”

“Yes.”

“Guess so.”

“Is everything sealed?”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright,” Castiel pulled out his communicator. “Landing party to Persephone, come in.”

_“Persephone here, how’s it going Cassie?”_

“We’ve finished collecting samples. Requesting permission to beam up.”

_“Roger that; please stand by for beaming.”_

* * *

 

When they beamed up, Commander Anna Milton - chief science officer - was waiting for them, her demeanor as impassive as ever. 

“Commander!” Garth said excitedly, nearly jumping off the platform to his colleague. “I thought you wouldn’t be back for another day!”

“The Verne was able to make excellent timing,” she said. “The Captain told me you gathered the samples?”

“Yes I did,” he grinned.

“Good, I’ll begin analysis at once. Commander, Ensign,” she said turned to Castiel and Jo, “bring the container to science lab 1. Garth, I’ll need a full report on the conditions of the planet and any observations of substance.” She turned to leave the room, Garth matching her speed. “I’m curious as to a few other experiments you conducted in my absence.” They left the room and Castiel and Jo.

Jo was frowning after her. She scratched the top of her head.

“Nice of her say hello.”

Castiel cast a sympathetic eye to her and sighed. “Come on,” he said, moving to the container. “Let’s get this moved.”

They both grabbed a handle and lifted. It wasn’t terribly heavy, and Castiel was sure he could carry it on his own - but it would be terribly cumbersome.

“Commander,” Jo started, as they turned into the hallway, “I was wondering, not to sound ungrateful for the mission-”

“You worked hard,” Castiel said plainly, “you earned your position and you did very well.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She blinked, “But I was wondering - are they always so… tedious?”

“Tedious?”

“We didn’t do anything,” Jo said in a hushed voiced. “All we did was carry around the container and watch Garth pack dirt into bags.”

“It’s a survey mission, ensign,” Castiel said. They walked into the elevator, and set the container down. Castiel extended a hand to grab the handle, “5th floor.”

“I know it was a survey mission but -” She sighed, “what was the point of us even even being there. We were completely useless. Just… background for the science folk.” She crossed her arms, frowning down, shoulders slumped.

“Jo,” Castiel said, “you have a position and a presence on this ship. You value as a starfleet officer is of no less or more importance than those in the other departments.”

“Right.”

“Do not devalue yourself. The only way we survive in the depths of space - is by surviving together.”

The elevator doors opened.

“In any case,” Castiel said, as he and Jo bent to pick the container back up, “this was a survey mission. Our primary reason for accompanying Doctor Fitzgerald was to monitor his wellbeing and maintain him to the day’s deadline.”

“So we’re babysitters?”

Castiel frowned and looked over to her.

“What?” she said.

He looked away, frown still in place. “Nothing.”


	9. Symptoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When things are wrong there are always signs. Sometimes the signs are glaring neon, sometimes they're a change in the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize for forgetting to reply to your comments lately - they honestly mean so much, I just end up staring at them and reading them when the writing blues appear. Anyways just to say I appreciate it tons and I will try harder to reply properly.
> 
> **  
> I realize I didn't properly introduce Anna in the last chapter so I went back to alter that slightly, here's what you missed:  
> "When they beamed up, Commander Anna Milton - chief science officer - was waiting for them, her demeanor as impassive as ever."
> 
> that's all I changed.  
> ;) enjoy

Starfleet food was better than rations. It was better than food on most worlds actually. Not that Dean didn’t love playing russian roulette on what alien meal does and doesn’t taste edible - heck he’s had some incredible meals, but most of the time he sticks to rations he can pick up. They're cheap, easy to find on any federation planet, and guaranteed to not be poisonous to humanoids. They’re packed with nutrition and come pre-flavoured. And they taste fine. But they taste like crap compared to this. Real honest to god food, a hot meal, steam rolling off it, and real god-damn flavours.

He’s not sure he can go back to rations.

“These are great eggs,” he says as he shovels some more back in.

“Yeah,” Charlie adds, “I hear the chick was mighty proud.”

“Who?” His mouth was full, so it was a muffled 'who'.

“The chick. Chicken. Chickens lay eggs." Charlie looked back to him, eyes finally moving away from the door, and frowned. "You should maybe slow down a bit.”

“Why?” His mouth was still full.

“Because you’re being a slop.”

Dean scoffed and in the process tiny bits of food shot out of his mouth, mostly landing on the cafeteria’s table. Charlie stared at him. Swallowing his food before speaking next, Dean said, “What’s with you?”

“Jo said she’d meet me for breakfast.”

“Hmm,” Dean said, focusing back on his meal. “Maybe she got pulled into work early?”

“No, their next survey mission isn’t for another hour.” Charlie said, looking back to the door - as though Jo were about to run in. “But maybe there was a red alert. And she had to rush off, and she didn’t even have time to send me a message or anything.”

Dean looked up from his meal.

“A red alert,” he raised a brow and looked around. There was no alert, no flashing light or warning bell, there was no rush. Everyone was casually eating in a relaxed state.

“A secret red alert.”

Dean lowered his brow and continued to stare. Charlie met his eyes easily for a moment before looking back to the door.

“Or maybe she forgot.”

“She probably got busy finishing some useless task that-” Just as Dean began, the doors behind him swished open, and Charlie’s attention was captured. Dean twisted around as well. Jo was at the door. She was in uniform, eyes darting around, arms crossed, hand itching at her sides, shoulder hunched, and her hair in disarray.

Charlie raised a hand to signal her over. Jo scuttled over, keeping her gazed fixed on everyone else in the room. Darting here and there.

“Hey Jo…” Charlie said, uncertainty and concern filled her eyes but she put a sympathetic smile on her lips. “Did you have a rough sleep?”

Jo turned to her, eyes wide and red, she grit her teeth out.

“I didn’t sleep. How could anyone sleep?” Her gaze shot up suddenly, then to her right, towards Dean, but over his shoulder. She scratched her head with wild desperation. “I’m gonna carve into it damn it.” Her eyes were wet.

“Okay, okay,” Charlie said, standing up, hands out, “it’s gonna be okay Jo.”

Jo turned to her, “He didn’t know.” She looked back at Dean, glaring now, angry and tired, “He didn’t know. How was I supposed to tell him if he didn't know!” Her voice rising.

“Jo,” Charlie said softly, “Jo, look at me. I think we should go to sick bay.”

“To the doctors.” She suddenly grinned, “to the doctors,” she started laughing.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, smiling back, “to the doctors.” She moved forward, putting a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

The laughter stopped. “No.” She looked up, there was so much rage. Dean stood up, instinct taking over. “He didn’t KNOW.” In one quick hand Jo grabbed Charlie’s hand and flung her over head, she landed in a floor with a thump. Dean rushed over, standing between Jo and and a now fallen Charlie.

“Jo,” he warned, his stance set, ready for a battle. Ready for a fight. "Calm down." The cafeteria, at this point, was on alert. Everyone had stopped chatting, eyes turned to the scene developing. Someone was at the control panel, requesting assistance and security to come.

And Jo started to cry. “He didn’t know. He didn’t… how was he- he couldn’t, How was I-” She babbled on, sobs interrupting the sequence. “Just stop… Stop...” Dean felt his stance relax, behind him, Charlie had collected herself and was sitting down.

“Just leave me be.... He was - I don't wanna. I don't wanna…” Jo finally crumbled to the ground, knees up, holding them tightly to her chest, her words muffled into her knees.

Dean bent down just as the doors opened again. Security rushed in and to the scene.

“Careful,” Dean said to the first red shirt who came over, holding out a hand, “she might…”

“Tactile contact might be a trigger.” Castiel was standing over them both. He moved forward, past Dean and the nonplussed ensign, and bent down to Jo’s level. “Ensign Jo Harvelle,” he said as she continued to mumbled. “Jo, look at me.”

Jo managed to lift her head, her eyes were red, cheeks stained. She lifted a hand out to scratch her head.

“I couldn’t do it.”

“It’s alright ensign.”

She shook her head, “no, no no. You don't- He didn’t know. He didn’t know - don’t you understand,” she reached out and grabbed Castiel’s shirt, “he didn’t know.”

“He couldn’t have know, ensign.”

“HE SHOULD’VE.” She said it with such desperation, as though enough emotion would alter the facts. Her grip tightened, but Cas kept his eyes fixed on her, calm and cool and collected. And Jo released her grip and tucked her head back down.

“I’m going to stand up now,” Castiel said. “We’re going to stand up. Do you need assistance?”

Jo didn’t reply, but when Castiel stood, she followed suit, his hands coming up to brace her elbows. She kept hold of his uniform shirt. They left the cafeteria without another incident.

Dean helped Charlie to her feet.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, dusting herself off. “Did he take her to sick bay?”

“I guess. Either that or the brig.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They were in sick bay. Jo was tied down. Getting her on the bed and in the restraints had been challenging.

“Jo,” Garth said, struggling to keep his patient from thrashing around, “I’m gonna give you a small sedative okay.”

“SHUT UP JUST STOP FUCKING - JUST STOP IT HE DIDN’T KNOW!”

Castiel held her shoulders down.  "Jo," he said, trying to pull her attention to him, "Jo we're trying to help-"

"WE HAVE TO TELL HIM!!"

Garth pushed the hypospray into her arm. Jo grunted a few more times but soon quieted down, and her eyes fluttering close, cheeks still wet with tears.  Garth let out a breath of relief and picked up the medical PADD by her bed, checking over her vitals.

“What's happened to her?”

“Her heart rate’s starting to drop again, everything’s all agitated… Do you know know when this all started?”

“I’m not sure,” Castiel said.  "She was fine when I left her last night."

“Well finding out’ll help with creating a timeline in case anyone-”

The door opened and Captain Harvelle marched in followed by Commander Anna, her face as calm and collected as ever. “What happened?”

Garth looked to Castiel, and the Captain followed suite.

“There was an incident in the cafeteria. Ensign Harvelle became emotionally and mentally distraught and it led to a small physical alteration. Nobody was injured but it clearly demonstrated the need for medical attention.”

Captain Ellen Harvelle took a few steps closer, to the end of the bed. Her eyes fixed on her daughter.

“How is she Doc?”

“She’s doing alright,” Garth said. “Her vitals were up for a bit, but nothing too extreme, it’s more like she got hit by a shot of adrenaline.”

“Adrenaline?” Cpt Harvelle frowned.

“Yeah, her system’s flooded,” Garth said, “it’s not life threatening. Not yet. I gave her a sedative, and everything starting to calm back down but unless we figure out the cause, I'm worried it'll just shoot back up.”

The Captain nodded and her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. She turned back to Garth. “Do you have any indication of a cause?”

“Uh, It’s tough to say right now,” Garth said, looking over the chart again. “But considering things, I’d say she might’ve gotten infected on the planet with something.  I’ve got to run some tests before I can really say.”

“You and Commander Novak were down there too, correct,” Anna asked.  "Did you not follow standard decontamination procedures?"

"This is a non-biologically held planet," Castiel said frowning.  "The standard procedure, unless due cause is given, does not require decontamination." 

"Perhaps your procedural methods require revision."  She met his gaze easily and they locked eyes.  The animosity was easy to see.

“I feel fine.” Garth shrugged.

“Nevertheless, it may be best to keep you three isolated until we’re certain,” Anna continued, “the infection may simply be germinating or dormant.”

“Let’s just try and figure out what we’re dealing with first,” Captain Harvelle said. “Novak, you get tested too. Garth see if you can find any common pathogen between you three that's out of norm. Milton, I want you to try and match those samples they collected yesterday with whatever is going on right now. If this all started on that planet, then the source of infection is probably in that sample box.”

“Yes Captain.”

The Captain turned to leave, sparing on last glance to Jo. She was frowning in her sleep, twitching every so often, but sleeping.

“Let me know when she’s conscious.”

“Yes, m’am.”

Anna turned to them as the Captain left, “Send me an analysis of her blood and spinal fluids, I’ll be in lab 1.” She said before turning away.

Once they had left, Castiel pulled his red sweater off, revealing a black t-shirt.

“You’ll need a blood sample,” he said as an explanation when Garth raised his brow at him. “I need to go reasses security afterwards. If this is contagious-”

“Then you going back out there is gonna do more harm than good.”

“What-”

“No no no,” Garth said wagging a finger at him. “I don’t want to hear no buts about it. You’re staying here with me til I can make sure we aren’t transmitters.”

“Doctor-”

“Doctor’s orders.”

Castiel sighed. “I’m going to need to make a few calls.”

“You can use my office.”

“Thank you.”

Garth smiled at him then turned back to his patient. As Castiel marched to his office, he was not pouting.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean was late to his meeting with Sam. He had plenty of time to get there, he had spent some time with Charlie, keeping her company as they waited for news on Jo (and Castiel)’s status (no news yet - except that they were in sick bay). He had time enough for the 5 minute journey. But he was late and when he did finally reach the door, he nearly turned around.  He scrubbed his face down and took a deep breath and walked in. Sam was already there, talking to someone on the desk’s monitor.

“-just don’t really think he underst-” Sam looked up, interrupting himself. “Dean, hey, uh hold on.” Turning back to the monitor,” I’ll talk to you later okay.” He switched it off before standing from his chair and giving Dean a small smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Dean tried to ignore the knot in his stomach. The clear warning bell going off; Sam didn’t want him to know who he was talking to. Instead, he looked around the room.  Standard briefing room.

“Sorry I was just replying to a message while I was waiting," Sam said.  Dean nodded.  "So uh, how are you?”

“Peachy.”

What kind of stupid question was that.

Sam deflated slightly, annoyed at the lack of feelings-talk. But Dean didn’t want to get into that.

“So how you wanna do this?” He crossed the room, taking a seat across from Sam’s. “We’re supposed to what was it? Compare notes?”

“Yeah,” Sam cleared his throat and sat back down, “I guess so.” His eyes were fixed on the tablets in front of him, his mind wandered a moment. “I made a list of possible interests.” He held a tablet up for Dean who took it to read over. It wasn’t a short list.

After a minute Dean hummed. “So you can scratch a few of these out real quick.”

“Like which ones?”

“Terra Guldmuin for one.”

“What? Why - what happened?”

“A few of them turned, went nuts on the others and it kind of feedbacked. Dad has this-” He stopped and rubbed out his face, “he had this theory that it might’ve been contagious. It looked like some of them fought back, won against them, were starting to clean up the mess - and then suddenly it started back up. Right when they all thought they were safe.”

He could almost smell it. The dry air thick with it. Rotting flesh, some burnt and some simply left to dry in the sun. There were always fires. Always mutilations.

“We buried what we could and cremated the rest. Made sure it wouldn’t spread.”

Sam had enjoyed time at that settlement. They stayed for nearly 6 months there when their dad thought a trader for the YED had set up shop there.

“Okay,” Sam nodded, eyes cast down. “Just uh, just cross it off then.”

Dean looked at him.

He remembered how excited Sam used to get about starfleet, how he used to pumble Bobby with questions about it, how he used to make plans to explore the galaxie and help others. This one time, he stood in front of Dean, defending some planet’s native beast with sharp claws and bright eyes, telling him it wasn’t right to kill just because we were scared. How all life was important. He nearly cried.

“What.” Sam looked up, frowning, tone demanding.

“Nothing.” Dean itched his chin before taking up the PADD and a pen. "Just... nothing." And he went thru the list.

 


	10. The facts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garth continues to investigate whatever is infecting his crew, meanwhile Dean and Sam continue their meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a deadline to finish this by the end of september. Because I will be too busy to write for about two months after that. So challenge - new chapter every week-ish - has commenced.

Dean went over every damn item on Sam’s damned list, explaining - briefly - which should be ignored. Village burnt to the ground, residence abandoned it when their crops failed, and a half-dozen places had ‘unexplained’ deaths which their dad had ruled out to be YED related (most, Dean had discovered were due to local disagreements or previously unknown planetary dangers). A list of people Dean couldn’t help. Couldn’t save. Just like-

“Dean,” Sam called out, “you okay?”

Dean blinked, rubbing a hand over his face, “What?”

“Are you okay?”

Dean blinked, “I said I’m fine.” It came out with more bite than he wanted, but it wasn’t undeserved, he thought. Afterall they’d been sitting for what felt like hours, reading over this damn list, like it was a inventory. Like countless lives weren’t tied to it. Like their dad hadn’t poured his life into making it, into finding out all that he could, into finding them. And then they killed him. They killed him like it was an afterthought and where was Dean?

“Dean?”

“What.” He snapped it out. Sam was looking. Sam was glaring? Sam was disappointed. Of course he was - of fucking course he was.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

What the hell did he care.

“I’m FINE.” He ran his hands up his face and through his hair and blinked. Like it even mattered how he was. Why the hell would it even matter. He was barely needed. Sam knew shit. The Impala would have the rest of it. What the fuck. What the fucking hell was he even doing here. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe that.”

His voice was steady as a rooted tree. But tiny. So fucking tiny.

“Well yooptidoo for you.” He stood up.

“Dean!”

Alert alert, Sam alert going off. Look at him paying attention to shit. Dean held up his hands as appeasement.

“Look, you’re doing fine, I’m doing fine. Everything.” He struck his hands out, to demonstrate the room around them. “Is fine.” He turned and headed to the door.

“Where are you going we’re not done.”

“I am!” He waved the doors open and then close. And he was ten steps down the hall and alone and Sam wasn’t following him and Sam probably thought he was a jerk who ditched cause he wanted to when he wanted to and Sam probably didn’t care - probably gave a sigh and a roll of the eyes and went back to the list. Back to work. Back to the inventory of failures. Of deaths. Of loss - of misery - of detachment of whatevers.

Dean made it to the turbolift and held on. “Bar.”

No movement.

“Fuck okay uh - where - cafeteria.”

That got it going.

He door swiped open and there was room to walk. So dean did. Dean walked out of the elevator and woah-

Dean came to a halt. There was a noise. A sound a shout. Right next to him.

He turned but saw nothing. Felt nothing. Heard… nothing. He heard nothing - so it was nothing. It was nothing.

Dean kept walking. Down the hall and smiled at the cute couple of folks who passed his way. They barely smiled back, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was walking to the cafeteria. He was gonna get a drink. Or a snack. Something was going in his face hole - that’s for sure. He was itching for it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m feel perfectly fine,” Charlie tried to explain to Garth, once again, “really.” He was fussing over her, checking readings and measuring her every cell count - for the second time in the hour. Garth ignored her, nodding complacently as his brow furrowed over an analysis. Charlie looked over his shoulder, there on the opposing side of the room, Jo lay in her own bed, straps still in place. She was unconscious, muttering every once in a while, but otherwise she seemed calm. Calmer.

Castiel was sitting nearby, looking over a PADD.

“Commander,” she said, catching his eye, “how is she?”

Castiel’s gaze softened, “she’s resting. They’re doing everything they can to help, isn’t that right doctor?”

“Hmmm.”

“She’s going to be alright,” he said, this time looking straight into Charlie’s eyes.

Charlie breathed in. “Promise?” Her voice was soft and vulnerable, and she tried to cover it up with a small smile, but Castiel could only stare back, begging The Powers with all his might that it wasn’t a lie.

“Alright,” Garth said, interrupting their solemn moment, “I think you might be clean.”

“Finally! I told you I feel fine.”

“No, no, I mean I think you might be clean. You’re not even a carrier.”

“Okay?”

“Really?” Castiel furrowed his brow.

“Is that a bad thing?” Charlie frowned.

“It’s a fantastic thing, is what it is!” Garth smiled, “see so far, the bug’s got a 100% carrier infection rate. Any contact with the infected person, means you’re a carrier, means you can get others infected whether or not you’re in the bad.”

“100%?” She glanced over, “What about you two?”

“Oh,” Garth said casually, “we’re infected. I think I got another couple of hours before it hits - if it does hit. But don’t worry, I’m not the only doctor aboard. And the Commander’s infected, but his immune system is built differently - so he’s doing alright.”

“For the most part,” Castiel corrected.

“Right, for the most part.” Garth did a double take. “For the most part?”

Castiel was left, caught in the double headlight of a Doctor and concerned friend. The fact that he enjoyed the affection did not negate his desire to keep away from the attention.

“I’m fine.”

“’For the most part’,” Garth repeated, turning away from Charlie and stepping forward. “Which means there’s been a development and I TOLD YOU to keep me informed.” The doctor picked up a medical tricorder. The small, salt-pepper like device whirled to life. “Are you hearing voices, feeling dizzy, confused? A sense of impulse?”

“No,” Castiel sighed, “I’m fine.”

“Commander please,” Garth said in his most convictive tone.

Castiel rolled his eyes, “I… I have sharp burning sensation, located here,” laid a hand onto his chest. “It appeared about an hour ago-”

“An hour ago!” Charlie interrupted.

“-and then vanished, reappearing some… ten minutes ago.”

“Hmmm,” Garth hummed, staring down at his tricorder’s readings. Charlie hopped off of her own examination bed and peered over his shoulder.

“Is his infection spreading? Those numbers are higher than before, is that the infection?”

“It’s trying to spread but so far it seems your fighting it off. The irregular increase in immunogetic activity is causing the pain.”

“So,” Castiel said, “I’m fine.”

“For now,” Garth said, “but I’m gonna give you a hypo-spray with some essentials - your body’s working double time, it needs all the building blocks it can get. We don’t want that wolf huffing down a stray house.” He grinned at his joke. Castiel did not understand. Charlie, also, did not seem to understand. Garth still thought it was amusing. “The real good news is Charlie.”

“Of course,” Charlie smiled. “What specifically then?”

“You’re immune. If we can isolate the anti-body responsible for your immunity - we have cure.”

“That’s great!”

“Yup!”

“Does that mean?-”

“I need some more blood samples.”

“Aww man…” Charlie sighed. “I hate needles,” she said with a pout. Garth gestured over to her examination bed. “Fine, fine, let’s get this over with.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean never reached the cafeteria.

He was going to. He was just around the corner, he could _see_ the door. Then everything went dark. Not completely. Not pitched black. He could still see. He was still awake. Still conscious. But it was different. The ship was darker. There was light coming from the ceiling, but it wasn’t the usual sun-simulated brightness. More like a flame. Flickering. He froze. There was a sense of panic but overriding it, over any other fear and disbelief, there was a sense of rightness that Dean couldn’t ignore. Like the world had been angled wrong and suddenly it was corrected.

The noise came again. But this time he knew what it was when he turned around, and he grinned. There was a man on the ground. Breathing hard, sweaty, dirty and bloody. He was babbling words, a language beyond Dean’s knowledge but the intend was clear.

**_Please. Please don’t. I beg you, please._ **

And Dean felt his mouth widen, and his eyes shone out with amusement - and his he wanted to puke. His arm rose, fingers tightening around something. He turned his head. There was a long blade, battered from years of use and neglect. There was blood, dried and fresh.

He looked back at the man and wanted to scream. Wanted to stop. Wanted to do anything else. But couldn’t. The only noise that escaped his knotted chest was a chuckle as the man before him tried to crawl away. He was too injured.

He blinked.

And the everything was as before. The lights were back to starfleet standards. The hall was empty. No blood or body to be seen. He stood in a cold sweat. His breath ragged as his lungs adjusted to the sudden desire for breath. His arm was raised. He was shaking. He turned his head and nearly cried when he saw his hand empty but clenched.

It was real.

He lowered his arm, holding it to his chest, as though it were injured. He took one last look at the doors behind him before walking away.

Step.

Step.

Step.

He had no desire to be near anyone.

 

**Author's Note:**

> would appreciate any indication that someone is reading - thanks


End file.
